


Mad Monster Party

by StarMaamMke



Category: Stranger Things - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Jim feels feelings, Moustache rides, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-10 21:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15958271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarMaamMke/pseuds/StarMaamMke
Summary: In the aftermath of the final showdown with Brenner, Jim decides that it's now or never. Based on a tumblr prompt. NSFW.





	Mad Monster Party

“Goddamn it, I told you ‘no’!” 

 

He knew it was the wrong thing to say. Of all the things that failed to deter Joyce Byers once her mind was made up, a direct and barked command was high on the list; however, it did not stop Jim Hopper from doubling down by planting his feet firmly apart and putting his hands on his hips as he looked down at her, his face a mask of fury. He hoped he looked intimidating, but he fully expected her to retaliate in the same way his childhood kitten had done when his father’s St. Bernard had gotten too close… though he knew she wouldn’t literally take a swipe at his nose. He hoped.

 

“Help me up, Jonathan,” Joyce ground out without tearing her furrowed glare away from Jim’s face. 

 

“JON!”

 

“You’re not my dad,” Jonathan murmured as he crossed the room to take Joyce’s hand. Jim was helpless to stop their actions; he’d never put his hands on either of them to physically stop them from carrying out an action, no matter how stupid. That was Lonnie’s way. 

 

“Mom, let me do it!” Will piped up from his corner of their white-walled prison. “I’m small too, I can move through the vents easily.”

 

“Absolutely not,” Joyce declared as she stepped on Jonathan’s palms, allowing herself to be boosted up to the broken vent cover, high above their heads. With a grunt, she ripped what remained from the wall, and dropped it to the ground, revealing a small but not impossible means of escape. She looked down at Jim and held out her hand.

 

“Gun, please.”

 

_ “Joyce” _ . Jim’s voice was tight with pain, her name drawn out in a pleading sort of whine. Joyce felt her throat close as tears stung at her eyes, but she bit her lip to keep her emotions at bay. 

 

“Jonathan.” The boy lowered Joyce to the ground and she walked up to Jim, placing two steady hands on his chest. She willed her expression to turn soft, her lower lip puffing out ever-so-slightly. “Brenner didn’t take all of your guns, I know he didn’t. Now, please… El is alone and scared and who knows what he’s doing to her-” 

 

Jim reared back with a angry groan, covering his face with both hands as his inhale drew in, strangled and tremulous. His eyes were burning when he pulled his hands away, and knelt to roll up one jean leg. Sure enough, it was strapped high on his calf with a makeshift, bandana holster. He handed it to her without meeting her eyes. 

 

Joyce touched the middle of Jim’s back as he turned away from her. “Hop, won’t you...” She trailed off, frowned and pulled her hand away when she realized that she had no idea why she was about to request that thing in particular. 

 

“I’ll save her. I’ll get us out of here.” She waited a few beats for a response, but Jim just stood there, hands balled into tight fists, a tremble in his arms that reached his tense, squared shoulders. “Okay.” She turned back to her son. “Jonathan could--”

 

She was cut off by a hand closing around her upper arm, and with a gasp, she found herself pressed against Jim’s strong chest as he clung to her for dear life, his hands clutching at fistfuls of fabric at the small of her back and between her shoulder blades, his lips in her hair. 

  
  


“Please, please, please be careful,” Jim choked out in a thin, keening plea. She could feel his hands caress hard circles against her back, his fingers flexing as though memorizing the delicate expanse. She felt a dampness against his scalp, and she looked up at him in alarm to find there were tears in his eyes. 

 

“Hopper, I’ll come--”

 

“Don’t say it,” he snapped gruffly, one hand coming up to cup her cheek. He bent low towards her, and she stood on her tiptoes to alleviate the strain, fulling expecting that they had stumbled upon the moment where finally, finally…

 

“If we do that, I’ll never let you do this,” Jim whispered, his forehead lightly pressing against hers. Her lips were hot and tingling with anticipation, and his breath against her face added to the acute adrenaline coursing helter-skelter through her veins. She wanted to scream out her want, and then demonstrate it… but she knew he was right. 

 

Jim moved his hands to her waist, and lifted her in a maneuver so sudden, she gave out a sharp gasp. In a few quick strides, they were to the wall, and she was being lifted higher, towards the vent. She pulled herself into the opening with a quick grunt and scrambled inside. There was absolutely no room for her to turn around, so her farewell was delivered towards the dark unknown, and soft enough that it didn’t echo through the tunnel. 

 

___________

 

Everyone lived. For once in Jim Hopper’s miserable, stinking existence, everyone lived. Still, he was livid as he paced the wraparound porch of the faded white farmhouse he had recently purchased. It was far too big for two people, but he couldn’t beat the price, and the ample yard. There was so much space for El to breathe and grow and…

 

Goddamn Joyce Byers and her hard-headed ways. Jim, again, was livid; it took everything in him not to march into the house, upstairs to the guest room where Joyce lay in an exhausted heap, shake her awake, and tell her exactly why he was fixing to boil over. Explain the way his world had tilted on its axis when the door to their cell had opened, revealing Joyce, and a man with a gun pressed against the back of her head. It had all been a blur after that, and Jim really needed to amend the previously mentioned ‘everyone lived’. Everyone he held dear lived, the man with the gun did not. That blood was on Jim’s hands; Brenner, a handful of his goons, and that Frankenstein’s Monster Brenner had been building in his makeshift lab… that was all El, the sister from Chicago, the boys, and Joyce. 

 

He wished he had been able to spare them all from having to take a life. For him, it was easy - no, not easy, he wasn’t a monster - for him it was muscle memory. A dormant skill that he thought had been put to bed when he was shipped back home from Vietnam, but had come shrieking back into visceral, violent existence when that nameless man had the gall to show Jim how willing he was to end Joyce. It had been accomplished in four fluid steps, so quick that it took Joyce a full two beats to release that the man that had been threatening her was on the floor, his neck turned at an unnatural angle, his glassy eyes clouding over as they stared towards a fixed point across the room, but at nothing in particular, really. Dead was dead, and Jim had barely broken a sweat. 

 

Dawn was starting to break over the tree line, and it warmed Jim a little, knowing that he and his little family of two would be treated to such a gorgeous view, indefinitely. Maybe that was another reason he had bought a house that was far too big for the two of them. At any rate, the Byers would be house guests for a long spell. Jim could still smell the smoke from the inferno across town, and he was sure it would linger for a while, until a decent rain cleaned the air. Joyce had grown up in that house, but the happy memories were few and far between. Her dad had been a drunk, and when he died, she took the house out of necessity- a one bedroom apartment downtown with a little boy and another on the way had made the turn of events a godsend. The fire was a massive inconvenient more than an emotional wrench. 

 

In a selfish way, Jim was happy the Byers were going to be lodged with him and El, however temporary - Joyce and her sons lent a sort of stability to his and El’s lonely, chaotic little world. Though, he was quite sure that Joyce would laugh in his face if he ever called her life ‘stable’ to her face; maybe stable wasn’t the right word for what she brought. Warmth, comfort… love.

 

Especially love, though the idea terrified Jim, the words always growing thick and unutterable in his throat. Love spurned his action, put killing strength in his arms and hands as he twisted the life out of that man. 

 

“Penny for your thoughts.”

 

Jim jerked out of his memory, and turned towards the soft voice. Joyce was standing near the front door, a shabby little shawl wrapped around her thin shoulders. Her hair was mussed and piled atop of her head in a chaotic bun, and she was clad in one of his old, faded, white henleys that was long enough that the hem fell mid-thigh. She looked like a lover, which was funny because he swore to himself time and time again that he would never touch her, never drag her down into the black hole. Good Lord, she was appealing in that moment, with her doe eyes, her messy auburn hair, and her bare legs and feet. 

 

“Go back to sleep, Owens’ people will be here in a few hours with more questions.” Jim’s tone had an icy, irritated edge. She was supposed to be sleeping so he could brood, rage, and pine in peace and quiet, goddamn it.

 

“You go to sleep,” Joyce shot back, her dark brows knitting together in a confused frown, beforing her expression softened into one of wide-eyed concern. “You look ready to fall over, Hop.”

 

Jim shrugged and sniffed before turning his back on her and pulling a rumpled pack of smokes from the front pocket of his flannel. He lit one filterless cigarette, and took a long, shaky drag before responding, “Nah, my I don’t wanna screw up my schedule. Gotta power through.” He flinched when he felt her place a hand on the middle of his back, and heard her stumble back with a gasp. 

 

“Hopper?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

He heard her take a deep breath. She moved so that she stood directly in front of him, craning her neck to look upwards. Her expression was so earnest, sweet, and imploring that he had to look away. She cupped his cheek and redirected his focus back to her. 

 

“You’re mad at me.”

 

Jim put one hand over hers and pushed it away from her cheek as he reared back with a thunderous glare. “Of course I’m mad at you, what the fuck were you thinking?” He began to pace like a caged beast, puffing obsessively at his cigarette. 

 

“We’d still be stuck in that room if it wasn’t for me - or worse,” Joyce’s tone was even, and soft with reason, but Jim caught the indignant edge that threatened to boil over. She was right, in her own way, but Jim didn’t care. All he saw in his mind was the gun pressed against the back of her head, and a terrible, bloody flash of what could’ve been. 

 

“Will would’ve done a better job of getting into that room! You said yourself that he’s good at hiding and-”

 

“You’re not suggesting that I should’ve sent him out there, tell me that’s not what you’re suggesting, Hop!” Joyce grabbed his arm to halt his pacing, she was not strong, but the move grounded him. He towered over her with his hands on his hips, his nostrils flaring as his breathing grew labored, his stomach twisting with anxiety and rage. 

 

“MAYBE I AM! It would’ve been better than your clumsy ass making a mess of things and getting people killed!”

 

Joyce’s eyes went wide, her jaw dropping at the accusation. For a moment, it appeared as though she was going to fight him, as a momentary flash of fire danced in her large, brown orbs, her chin jutting out as she pressed her lips into a firm, angry line - but then her expression crumbled, the corners of her mouth turned downwards as her chin trembled and her eyes filled with tears. Jim’s anger was extinguished at the sight of her open grief and guilt.

 

“I’m really good at getting people killed, aren’t I?” She asked softly before covering her mouth with one hand and bowing her head.

 

“Joyce, no… I didn’t mean it.”

 

Joyce shook her head as her breath became ragged with soft sobs. “No, you did. I got people killed, just like I killed Bob.”

 

Jim’s conscience smote him. The last thing he ever wanted to do was take her back to that nasty chapter in their lives, to that night of viscera and terror. He knew it plagued her every waking moment, showing up at odd little times, though less frequent as time passed. He had poked his grubby finger into a half-healed wound, and he felt lower than dirt for doing so. She stiffened and trembled in his arms as he pulled her against him, and he could feel every bone in her back as he caressed it with soothing little circles, his voice lowering so he could murmur sentimental nonsense against the top of her head as she gradually relaxed and soaked his shirt front with tears. A cosmic joke, that such fire and strength was contained in such a slight and delicate frame. 

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” was his soft mantra. “Nothing tonight was your fault, nothing. I just got so fucking scared, and then I lost it when that sonofabitch had you. I’d tear apart every fucker that ever hurt you, limb by limb, if I could. I love you, Horowitz.” 

 

There it was, the words spilling out before he had time to analyze the pros and cons of saying them, which was a classic Hopper move, when all was said and done. Joyce froze in his arms, and he stepped back so he could search her face for a sign that she was processing his confession. 

 

Joyce’s was wide-eyed, wan and stunned, her soft, full mouth slightly agape as she stared up at him. “Umm…” 

 

“Yeah.”

 

Joyce’s brows knitted together, her eyes narrowing. “Are… are you sure?”

 

Jim could’ve taken the easy road, and backed off with a glib joke or a half-baked excuse, but his mind went back to the moment they shared in that room, when he swore he’d never let her go if she let him kiss her, and he knew, black hole or no, it would be the flimsiest lie he ever told. He cupped her face between his hands, and bent low so he could kiss her forehead, her cheeks, and the tip of her nose before sliding his touch downwards to wrap his arms around her waist and hoist her up to his level in a tight hug that elicited a sharp gasp. He was a goner, and utterly overcome with the intensity of his regard. 

 

“I’m sure,” he uttered against the curve of her neck. He felt her smile against his neck, which filled him with enough wild hope that he kissed a path upwards until their lips met, and parted. 

 

Jim tightened one arm around Joyce, while his other hand drifted aimlessly up and down her back, uncertain of where to rest as she sighed her breathless sighs in between dizzying kisses. She tasted like toothpaste and chamomile tea, and smelled vaguely of his Irish Spring soap and El’s coconut shampoo. He hadn’t seen fit to shower after their ordeal, and he felt vaguely guilty of it, in the face of Joyce’s clean, mildly intoxicating scent, but if she was put off by his aroma, she didn’t show it - she kissed him like he was the air she breathed, licking into him with a hunger and passion that he hadn’t realized she possessed. The idea that she might’ve wanted him even a fraction as much as he wanted her, went straight to his cock, making it ache uncomfortably within the confines of his jeans. 

 

“Good,” she finally gasped out when they paused to breathe, the sound of it hot and melodic against the shell of his ear, causing the hair on his arms and the back of his neck to stand on end. “Good,” she repeated as she wrapped her legs about his waist and allowed herself to be pressed against the wall so he could ravage her mouth once more. 

 

Jim grew painfully aware of the fact that the only thing preventing a frantic coupling on his front porch was denim, and the thin cotton barrier of Joyce’s panties - neither were really a deterrent, not when he could feel her heat radiating despite the layers of clothing between them.  His mind flew to the house filled with sleeping teens and preteens, and the profound embarrassment that would befall all parties, if one of said teens or preteens would happen upon the scene. Burying his face against the curve of her neck, he inhaled deeply before speaking his dearest wish into the universe:

 

“I don’t want you to sleep in the guest room tonight.”

 

Jim felt Joyce’s lips brush the side of his temple, and then the cool tip of her nose. She was silent for several beats, but her breath came out in shallow, telling little puffs. “That futon is really uncomfortable.”

 

Jim’s knees and back were not what they used to be, but he carried Joyce into the house, up the stairs, and down the hallway to his room like a bride, and did so with relative ease. She snickered a bit at first, when he adjusted her in his arms, so he could cradle her for the short journey, but stopped immediately when he shot her a look that was anything but light and silly - her eyes widened and her she exhaled heavily as he scanned her face looking for all the world like he could devour her.

As he gently laid her out on his king-sized bed and crawled over her to shove the thick material of his shirt up and over to expose bare breasts, flat tummy, and white cotton panties - the materially visibly damp at the juncture of her thighs- Jim recalled a stupid little conversation he had overheard the kids having the other day. Dustin was quoting some movie he later referred to as  _ The Meaning of Life _ when Jim, red-faced and flustered that the boy was using sexual language in front of El, demanded to know where he picked up such trash. 

 

_ You don’t have to go leaping straight for the clitoris like a bull at the gate… _

 

Stupid damn kid. Stupid damn brain for reminding him of that completely awkward instance - it took the wind out of his sails and softened his previously aching erection as he stared absently down at Joyce, with her heavy-lidded eyes, her swollen lips, and her mostly naked form, but especially the area between her legs that, moments ago, he had wanted nothing more than to immediately bury his face between.

 

“Stop thinking so loud,” Joyce huffed as she laid her hands over his and guided them to her breasts, a maneuver that banished all form of rational thought from Jim’s head, as he darted down to catch her clever little tongue in his mouth, before pressing hot little kisses down the side of her neck as his hands massaged her breasts, his thumbs circling and teasing her pert little nipples into aching points. Jim replaced his fingers and hands with greedy lips, and he smiled smugly against her soft flesh as he heard Joyce’s sharp intake of breath, followed by an audible whimper.

 

“Goddamn, you’re still the most beautiful thing about this shitty little town, Joy,” Jim praised as one hand trailed between her thighs, his fingers sliding under her panties and brushing against her exquisitely wet folds, making her shudder at first contact.

 

“Gee th- Ah, Hop! - thanks… “ Joyce’s head sank back against the pillow as his fingers worked her center and his lips trailed over her ribs and down her abdomen.

 

___________

 

Joyce nearly broke the skin of her hand as she bit down to muffle her cries, as Jim Hopper’s mouth and tongue worked magic between her legs, his nose bumping against her clit before his lips closed around it and suckled. She also had to admit that she was now, most definitely, pro-moustache. Her legs twitched, and the muscles in her thighs started to tremble as her other hand head his head steady so she could thrust her hips against his face, urging him on with soft words of encouragement, punctuated with choice curse words. His tongue picked up a frantic little rhythm as she was launched further and further over the precipice, his hands coming under to cup her buttocks as she arched off of the mattress, praising his and Jesus’s name over and over, ad nauseum as she felt a gush of wet warmth coat her thighs.

 

“God, your pussy gets wetter than any woman I’ve ever seen,” he chuckled as he leaned over her to reach the nightstand, so he could slide open the drawer and rip open a box of condoms. She blushed as he handed her the foil packet and kissed her deeply. Joyce tingled from the aftershocks, and the dirty little thrill of tasting herself all over his lips, tongue, and moustache as she tore open the packet and eagerly worked to slide the condom over his cock. 

 

Jim rolled onto his back and reached over to tug at one of Joyce’s hands. “C’mere,” he rumbled low. Joyce bit her lower lip and moved to straddle him, rubbing herself up and down his thick length, before lifting her hips and lowering herself onto him. She gave a sharp little cry as he filled and stretched her. She gave herself a moment to adjust before looking down at him, and catching her breath; his eyes were soft and wide, his lips slightly parted as he gazed up with adoration. She thought it might’ve been a trick of the moonlight, but his eyes seemed almost watery in that moment. 

 

“Hop?”

 

“It’s a miracle that you’re here right now,” he uttered hoarsely. “Jesus, I really thought I was going to lose--”

 

Joyce shushed him, and shook her head. “That doesn’t have a place here.” With that, she began to move her hips, smiling as his hands slide up to grasp them - not entirely willing to give complete control over to her, despite her dominant position. They continued on like this; leisurely paced and rhythmic, the squeaking of the bedsprings, Joyce’s soft moans, and Jim’s occasional huff of air filling the silence of the room. Soon, though, his grip on her hips tightened, his hips rising and falling at a more rapid, forceful rate, with her meeting the change with vigor. When her cries started to become a little too loud, Jim sat up so he could clamp one hand over her mouth, the other anchored to the mattress as his thrust, and thrust and…

 

“I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming…” Joyce whimpered against his hand. 

 

“I’m not gonna be much longer either,” Jim replied before biting down hard on the curve of her neck. The sharp pain, mixed with the powerful force of Joyce’s orgasm worked in tandem. She came so hard she momentarily blacked out, brought back into focus by Jim’s labored breathing as he grunted and exploded within her. She could feel the pulse of his cock as his thrusts slowed and his hand fell away from her mouth. He moved against her two times before rising and holding the position for several beats, and then collapsing onto his back. Joyce joined him shortly after, her cheek pressed against his thickly furred chest as she panted and giggled, and he pressed kisses against the top of her chaotic mane.

 

“I love you too, Hopper,” she finally replied.

 


End file.
